Page 15 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
“Well, a few things gave it away and I just wanted to confirm.”
I bet the questioning look was heavy on my face and was extremely easy to read because she chuckled.
“Well, first, your “Queen Hazel, The Hottest Photographer Ever” planner is a big giveaway, then your mole, your absolutely beautiful auburn hair, and something else that is for my knowledge alone.”
“Wow.”
Lydia gives a knowing smile. “I am a fan. Your work is hard to miss. The shoot you did for ClearView Resort was stunning. I studied it for about two weeks.”
“Wow…, um…, thanks,” I say, genuinely flattered. “I’m really grateful.”
Brooke nudges Lydia and smirks. “This might be TMI, but she stalks people’s portfolios for fun.”
“Hey, research is essential,” Lydia protests, laughing.
“And in case, y’all have forgotten, I’m still here,” the guy cuts in, setting his phone down for a moment.
“Right… Grumpy over there is Landon.”
“Just so we are clear, I’m not grumpy. I am realistic.”
Brooke snorts. “Grumpy. Realistic. Same thing when it comes to you.”
Landon smirks slightly but does not argue, and I realize their dynamic is oddly endearing.
“Nice to meet you, Landon,” I say, holding back a grin.
“Likewise,” he replies, his tone neutral.
It is not the warmest of beginnings, but at least the ice is broken.
Our conversation flows naturally, a mix of lighthearted chatter and industry talk until someone new enters the room carrying a tray of drinks.
“Good morning everyone, I was told to inform you that the meeting will commence in 10 minutes. There is a slight delay. In the meantime, there are refreshments.”
The moment feels cinematic, like slow motion, as the person trips on the edge of the carpet. The tray wobbles, teeters, and then - splat. Orange juice cascades toward me, thankfully landing squarely on my pants.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The guy says, wide-eyed, holding up his hands as though in surrender.
“It’s fine,” I replied quickly, waving him off. “I will clean it up. Black pants for the win.”
Lydia offers to help, already grabbing some napkins, but I shake my head. “It is fine, really. We all make mistakes. Just tell me where the restroom is.”
He points toward the hall. “Down the hall. First door on the left. Again, I am really sorry!”
“Again, it is fine. You should have seen me when I waitressed a few years ago, I was a walking disaster. To myself, the customers, and dare I say, the walls. So, this is nothing. We are good.”
Once in the restroom, I use the thick paper towel to clean off the wetness and maybe reduce my now orangey smell.
“Again, thank God I wore black today,” I mutter, giving my jeans one last pat.
As soon as I step out, my phone beeps. I glance down to check the notification when I collide with something - or someone. His file falls, papers scattered, and his phone is a few meters away.
What am I? A tornado?
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I say, immediately crouching to pick up the scattered items.
“No, it’s fine,” he says curtly, his voice low and smooth yet edged with irritation.
